Battle of Evermore
by annieapple24
Summary: Dean Winchester, the son of John Winchester the chief and Head Hunter of the Viking Village. For centuries, the hunters in Dean's village have hunted and fought against the attacking angels. But what happens when Dean manages to wound and capture a rare black-winged angel? Will he kill it and proudly take the body back to the village and make his father proud?
1. Chapter 1

A/N:This is a supernatural fic in a How to Train Your Dragon AU. But How to Train Your Angel was a crappy title. So I picked an amazing Led Zeppelin song title instead. Basically this fic mashes up Supernatural themes and characters in a Viking world with a little Norse Mythology, a little Old Testament mythology, and a crap-load of out of the time period terminology. Because I'm a big fan of that.

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><p>Dean slowly crept closer to the edge of the large, moss-covered rock that shielded his body from sight from the valley below. He peered down to the small lake searching for the dark shape he knew was there somewhere.<p>

There. A large pair of pitch black wings, spread across the bright green grass. They shivered slightly, moving just enough to reveal a small amount of golden skin, confirming what the wings were attached to.

An angel.

Throughout his life Dean had seen thousands of angels, but never this close. And especially not an angel with black wings. His village was constantly battling the winged monsters. He had watched his father and the other hunters of the village like Bobby and Rufus fight and kill the angels that constantly tried to kill any man, woman or child that got in their way.

Dean was expected to begin training soon. Then he would join the battle as well. Then his brother Sam. Then his children and their children and so on in a never ending cycle.

But now Dean had a chance to prove himself a true warrior. He had wounded an angel, he could see the blood dripping from the end of the angel's left wing. All he had to do was kill it, and take the body back to his father. Finally, his father would be proud of him.

And an angel with black wings no less. Rumored to be the offspring of lighting and death itself. Almost invisible when flying at night and could turn entire buildings to ash with one touch.

A movement from the figure crouching by the lake had Dean gasping and ducking back behind the rock. When he chanced another glance, he saw the angel had moved, but was still turned away from him.

The angel was now crouched on his feet, his naked, lithe form tensed like a lion about to pounce on his prey.

No that wasn't right. It wasn't like a lion. More like a bird. Dean gasped again when he realized what was happening.

The angel leapt into the air, flapping his enormous wings a few times before falling back to the ground. He could hear the angel's grunt of pain.

Dean released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. This was it. The time was now.

Dean readjusted the grip on his knife, and began to slowly creep closer and closer to where the angel was now curled on the ground.

He knew when the angel sensed him, seeing muscles tense under smooth skin. He watched as the angel turned to face him, his brightly glowing eyes almost blinding Dean with their intensity.

The blond gripped the knife hard enough to hurt his knuckles, raising it above his head, ready to strike. Neither of them were breathing, hearts pounding out of both their chests. And Dean couldn't break away from the angel's stare.

Slowly, he lowered the knife and backed a few steps away from the angel. Dean breathed out a sigh, and turned to head back to his village. He truly was a failure. Even if his dad never said it out loud, Dean had seen the looks, almost glares, directed at him. He was doomed from the start.

Hands reached from nowhere, grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around to slam him into the boulder behind him. He looked into the angel's face, eyes shining even brighter with malice. He could feel the hot pants of breath hitting his face. Terror laced through Dean, stealing his breath and making him sick.

Maybe it was better this way. Now John wouldn't have to know just how horribly Dean had failed. He would just be another tally on the death toll.

But just as Dean accepted his fate, he saw something in the angel's eyes. Hesitation.

Before Dean could puzzle his way through the strange occurrence, he gasped as the angel suddenly flared his wings and let out a terrible screech. Dean covered his ears and groaned in pain, eyes closing of their own accord.

When the screams finally dimmed, Dean looked back up to see the angel attempting, and failing miserably, to fly away.

"Wait!" Dean shouted.

What the hell was he doing? He should be running, getting his ass the Hel out of that valley.

"Wait!" He shouted again.

He gasped when the angel turned back to him, wings still flared but arched back defensively.

Achingly slowly, Dean inched forward, presenting the palm of his hand to the angel, like one might do to a dog. _Seriously what the hell am I doing?_

The angel yelped and backed up at first, but Dean did his best to whisper soothing nonsense to the angel.

Finally, they were close enough, Dean would only need to stretch less than a foot to touch the angel. He lowered his hand, carefully keeping his palms showing, hoping to keep the angel from feeling danger.

"What's your name?" Dean whispered to the angel.

The brunette figure eyed Dean wearily. For a moment, Dean thought angel would try flying away again, but to his great surprise, the angel relaxed slightly and his eyes changed.

_Wait, what?_

What were once brightly glowing orbs of blue light were now the biggest and deepest sapphire blue eyes Dean had ever seen.

"Castiel."

Dean jumped hearing the gravelly voice coming from the angel's mouth.

"What?"

"My name is Castiel."

Dean's breath caught in his throat. He wasn't expecting an answer from the angel. He didn't even know angels could talk, let alone that they had names. It wasn't supposed to be an actual question, just gibberish flowing from his mouth.

"M…my name's Dean," Dean managed to stutter.

"Hello, Dean," the angel responded, his pink, chapped lips curling up into a small smile.

Despite his body screaming at him, Dean finally gained enough brain power to turn and run away, like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Already got so many great responses to this story, its very encouraging! I'm very excited for this story. Keep letting me know what you guys think. I may be encouraged enough to start writing mi butt of to start posting twice a week ;)

"Dean! Get your scrawny ass over here and help me with this sword!" Bobby called across the shop.

Dean sighed, abandoning his sketchbook where he was attempting to design a new weapon: a two-sided sword joined by a handle in the middle with double the killing power of the broadswords most hunters used. He stood and crossed the room.

He worked as an apprentice to Robert Singer, the village blacksmith. He loved Bobby, a friend of his father's, who had taught Dean everything he needed to know about melting and shaping metal to create weapons and shields to help the village hunters fight and kill the angels that attacked them. Except not all angels attack. Dean found that out…

Dean shook his head and attempted to focus on the sword he balanced for Bobby while the man carefully inscribed the handle and lower blade with runes to increase power, stamina, and durability of both the weapon and the hunter wielding it. Additional runes and special prayers had to be said over weapons for them to be effective against the angels.

The angels used shorter, sharper blades to attack, or if they chose, angels could blast hunters with enough energy to fry them extra crispy.

The thought of angelic energy made Dean think of Castiel's eyes. First they had been like any other angel's, glowing blindingly with pure energy. But then the light went away and left behind deep pools of…

_Okay, that's gotta stop. That's enough flowery daydreaming for one day._

Finally, Bobby finished with the etchings and took it to the water to let it finish cooling and harden. Dean took this as an okay to return to his desk and sketchbook.

As Dean stared down at the half-finished sketch, his mind started to wander. What did happen to Castiel? Was he able to make it back to… wherever the angels go when they weren't attacking? It didn't seem likely that he was still down in the forest. But maybe he had left something. If Dean could find something of the angel's, even just a fallen feather, he may be able to use it to their advantage. Maybe he could design a new weapon that could kill them easier. Too many of his friends and neighbors had already died fighting angels, any little thing could help.

He wished he could tell Bobby what he did. The net that he had fashioned had ensnared the angel, invisible to the naked eye except for the destruction left in its path. He had tracked the angel a few miles into the forest west of the village and found Castiel. It was an impossible occurrence, yet it had actually happened. But no one would believe him. And even if they did, Dean still failed. He didn't kill the angel. He was too weak, and let it go.

But maybe Dean could still fix it. If he could find anything that could help them fight. Dean decided he would go back out to the woods the next day and look.

Later that night, after Bobby had told him to go home, Dean sat at the table downstairs, eating with his brother. Sammy was yammering on about all the things he learned at the archives, where the elders kept all written books, tomes, codex, and other boring junk ever recorded, mostly about angels and how to fight them.

Dean pretended to listen, though thrilled that his brother had had a better day than his own. He stirred his stew slowly, allowing it to cool slightly before taking a bite. He had made it himself, for him and Sammy, knowing that their father would not be home for another few minutes. Not that Dean blamed him. It's a lot of work to be chief of a village.

Not that it ever got Dean or Sammy special treatment. John did what a chief should do, he lead the hunters on attacks against the angels, planned on how better to attack the angels, and ensured everyone else was ready to fight as well. It kept him away from home for long hours.

Dean didn't mind. He had been taking care of his brother almost his entire life, ever since their mom, Mary, had died. It wasn't too difficult, and it helped bring the boys closer than any of the other siblings in the village. For the most part, brothers and sisters competed with each other in their angel-hunting-related exploits to gain the pride and love of their parents. Though they both sought John's attention and love, they refused to get it if it involved hurting the other.

Dean was pretty happy, and usually loved to hear Sammy talk about his day. Unfortunately, Dean was not interested in studying in the archives. What he was interested in, and what had him still distracted, was studying one particular angel up close and personal.

Sammy had just started talking about one of the elders helping teach him the basics of a language of a far distant village (still their closest neighbors, but a few weeks' journey away, so few had been there) when the boys heard the front door open.

Around the corner came John, looking completely exhausted. As he should be. After the raid the village experienced last night, the hunters were busy cleaning the wreckage the entire day.

"Hey, boys," the man grunted in greeting before helping himself to the remnants of their dinner.

"Hey, Dad," Sammy returned the greeting.

Dean watched as his brother ate the last bite of his stew and excuse himself from the table, heading up to his room, most likely to start reading yet another boring scroll or codex or something dorky.

"So did the hunters get everything cleaned up?" Dean asked hesitantly after his father had eaten most of his stew.

"Nearly. The bakery is still pretty wrecked, but that can wait until tomorrow."

Dean nodded and began to clear the table, taking the dirty, wooden bowls to the water trough and scrubbing them clean.

"Dean," John said to get his son's full attention.

Dean turned to his father expectantly, slightly surprised at his father addressing him. Most of the time John stayed quiet the entire night unless prompted to talk.

"I signed you up for angel training, Dean."

Dean almost dropped the bowl he was washing.

"I know it's a little early," John started, pointing out the six months before Dean's eighteenth birthday, "but the attack last night has made me realize how unprepared we are."

Dean nodded, not sure where his father's words were headed.

"The hunters have been debating moving the training age to 16 for quite some time now, and I believe the first step to this change will be admitting you and a few others your age early. It's only a baby step, but we need every fighter we can get."

Dean deflated slightly, realizing that it wasn't his father's belief that he was special and ready to fight, but a last resort that had prompted his decision. Dean nodded all the same, respectfully acknowledging his father's decision.

John hesitated a few more moments like he wanted to say something more to Dean, but must have changed his mind as he stood from the table and retreated into the other room.

Dean finished cleaning up, reflecting on the conversation. He had no real desire to start angel-training, but it was an opportunity to make his father and the village proud. If he could successfully complete training earlier than all the other hunters had in their time, it would prove him both capable and admirable.

Excitement filled him after his epiphany. Maybe he wasn't a failure after all.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hop you guys are enjoying the story. My apologies for the obvious lack of editing. I promise I'm working on that. The important thing is: Here's chapter 3! Enjoy!

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><p>The forest surrounding the valley consisted of dense underbrush, tall, grey pine trees, and various woodland creatures crawling and fluttering through the trees.<p>

Dean, unfortunately, was nowhere near as graceful as these other animals when walking through the forest. He seemed to trip over every fallen branch, stub his toes on every stone, and even walked into a few trees when trying to sidestep something on the ground.

He finally made it to the valley, taking a moment to gaze at the lush green grass, silvery gray rock, and crystal clear pool of water at the center. It was a teeny tiny paradise right in the middle of the barren, bracken of Viking country.

He carefully began the descent into the valley. He made it about halfway down, but froze when he heard a sound from below. The sound of wings.

On instinct, he leaped to hide behind a natural outcrop of rock, his eyes frantically searching the area below.

Finally, his eyes alighted upon the figure of an angel, bent over the tiny lake.

Of course Dean could not help but notice the angel was still naked, his tanned skin rippling over hard muscle as he moved over the water. At first Dean could not tell what the angel was doing, but then caught a glimpse of a brightly colored object jumping out of the water, through the angel's hands, and back to safety.

Dean could not hold back the chuckle when he realized, the angel was trying to fish. And failing miserably by the looks of it.

Almost without realizing what he was doing, Dean pulled his sketchbook out of his leather satchel hung across his shoulder, and opened it to a fresh page. Slowly, taking in every muscle of the angel's lean body, Dean began to sketch.

The calves were taught, one foot placed behind the other to balance the angel in his precarious position. Dean drew the smooth yet hard muscle bulging in the angel's thighs, similar to the figures of many of the hunter's best runners. Dean bet that this angel could outrun any of them even without aid from its wings.

Dean's artist's eye traveled up to the angel's back, strong and bold lines representing the power in the muscles found there. But something was wrong.

Dean edged slightly closer, peering down at the angel and squinting his eyes. He gasped when he realized what exactly was wrong.

The angel's back was covered with blood. There were lines of water letting it drip farther down the angel's body, almost to his buttocks, like the angel had attempted to wash it off but didn't quite succeed. He tracked the line of blood up to the angel's left wing.

Dean felt a wave of nausea crash over him when he saw the angel's wing. It was obviously broken, near the base of the top part (was it called the wrist? Or just the joint?), bent at a sickening angle. The feathers around it were caked in blood and dirt. Dean couldn't see any bone through the break, but wasn't even sure if angel's had bones in their wings.

The angel had to be in pain, and was obviously starving. He must be stuck in the valley, unable to fly with his broken wing.

And it was Dean's fault. He had trapped the angel in his net, the wing probably breaking when he fell to the Earth from where he soared hundreds of feet in the sky. Dean knew angels were strong, but not invulnerable. Guilt flooded through him, making his nausea increase to where he thought he might actually be sick. Yeah, he was destined to kill angels for a living, even sooner than expected, but this was different. This was completely inhumane. Dean was completely disgusted with himself.

It only took a split second for Dean to make his decision. He spun around quickly, and marched back through the forest, heading back to the village.

…

It took Dean less than an hour to jog to the village and collect everything he needed. It was a slower jog back, weighed down with three heavy bags and already tired from the first trip. But eventually he made it back to the valley.

Panic overtook Dean for a second when he couldn't find the angel crouching by the lake. He searched frantically for the pair of ginormous black wings. The blond released a relieved sigh when he finally located the angel, sitting with his back against a large boulder, his wing carefully bent around him to avoid putting any weight on it.

Dean winced when he saw the state of the angel's wing again, but stoically moved forward, down into the valley. The closer he got to the angel, the more nervous he got. He hadn't been to training yet, but he had heard enough from his father and the hunters that a cornered, defensive angel was the most dangerous.

When Dean was just a few dozen feet away, Dean froze, unsure how to proceed. If he scared the angel, one or both of them could get hurt, or worse, the angel could try to kill him.

Steeling himself for the worst, Dean took a deep breath and whispered, "Castiel?"

The angel's head whipped up, his body tensing immediately, trying and failing to hide his look of pain when his wing started to move into a defensive position.

"Dean?" He barely heard the angel, voice timid and anxious.

"Yeah, it's me." Dean said stupidly.

The angel nodded, but did not reply or move from his defensive position.

Dean couldn't figure out what to say next, and the shock of actually standing in front of the angel yet again was enough to make him freeze in place, his mind utterly blank. Several times his mouth opened to speak to the angel, but no sound came out. Instead he seemed to be gaping like a fish. He tried taking a deep breath to make his mind freaking start working correctly again before he nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise when the angel spoke.

"If you are going to kill me, I would rather you do it quickly. You'll never make me talk anyways, no matter how much you torture me."

If Dean had just a fraction less control of his body, he would've fallen right on his ass after that comment. Luckily, years of dealing with snarling, grumpy old hunters had developed a defensive snark in Dean that could protect him in any situation as well as get on anyone's nerves. Even an angel's.

"You're talking right now. Guess it wasn't that difficult. Don't feel bad though. You're not the first person to take one look at my beautiful face and reveal all their secrets. No one can resist my charm." Just to put the icing on the cake, Dean flashed the angel his would-be-award-winning-if-Vikings-had-awards-for-anything smirk.

The angel merely glared at Dean and kept his mouth shut.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, I came to help you out."

Still no answer from the angel, but the glare continued, distrust clear in his eyes.

"Yeah, you don't believe me, I don't give a crap. Just eat."

Dean rummaged around in his sack until he pulled out the loaf of hard bread he took from the kitchen and the extremely precious jar of sweet syrup that he had managed to bargain some of Sammy's outgrown clothes for the last time the nomadic tradesmen came through the village. The berries from which it was made did not grow anywhere near the village, so Dean kept it tucked away for special occasions. The last time he got it out from its hiding place was for his father's birthday, and he hadn't come home that night. Dean figured he could use all the help he could get from the angel.

Dean also pulled out two wineskins, one empty to fill with water from the lake should it be needed.

The angel lifted his head to look at the food, but otherwise stayed still. Dean knew the look in his eyes, however. The angel was _hungry_.

"I mean, if you don't want it, I'll take it back home. The bakery still hasn't been fixed from the raid the other night, so I should probably be saving this. I just thought you might want it."

No reaction.

"Okay, I'll make you a deal. I'm gonna go over to the lake and fill this up," Dean gestured to the empty wineskin still in his hand, "and you can sniff and scratch and do whatever you need to do to see that I didn't poison the bread or anything, and eat it. When I get back, I have some old cloths we can use to help wash some of that crap off your back. How does that sound?"

When Dean still received no reaction, he sighed and stood, moving to the lake.

As he filled the wineskin it took every ounce of Dean's effort not to turn back to see if the angel was finally eating. He took his time, lingering to cast his eyes across the valley, seeing it from the newer, lower perspective, before finally turning back to the wounded angel.

To Dean's relief, half the loaf was gone, and the angel was currently fighting with the lid to the jar of syrup.

"Here, let me help with that."

The angel jumped back to his defensive position, dropping the jar. Dean just rolled his eyes, picked up the jar to unscrew it, and set it back in front of the angel. He took a few steps back and crouched down, attempting to be as nonthreatening as possible.

It took a few agonizingly long moments of the angel furtively glancing back and forth from Dean to the jar before he finally picked it up and scooped some out with his fingers. Dean watched as the angel sniffed it, before tentatively sticking out his tongue to lick it. A pleased sound escaped the angel before sticking the fingers into his mouth and letting out an honest to Odin moan.

It shouldn't have made Dean blush as hard as it did, and it definitely didn't make Dean need to readjust himself. It was an angel for Thor's sake.

"Well I'm glad you're enjoying yourself over there," Dean said, forcing himself to turn away from the angel.

To keep his eyes and thoughts out of dangerous territory, Dean moved to pull the old cloths out of his bag. He wasn't sure what the best way to clean them was, but he knew anything would be better than leaving them in the state they were in now. Even if angels didn't get infections, the crusty blood and dirt had to be itchy as hell.

"When you finish, you're gonna help me figure out the best way to get you cleaned up. Then I'm gonna help you fly again."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So, for not really knowing what the hell I was writing about, I think this chapter turned out pretty well. Let me know what you guys think!

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><p>"When you finish, you're gonna help me figure out the best way to get you cleaned up. Then I'm gonna help you fly again," Dean said, laying out the rags and wineskin filled with water.<p>

He then pulled a brush out of his bag. It was used to clean animals, usually mules, and Dean wasn't sure it would help with the angel's wings, but he brought it just in case.

He was so intent on rummaging through his bag, he almost didn't notice that the angel was staring at him.

"What?" Dean asked.

He felt unnerved with the intensity of the angel's stare. He had almost finished the bread, only having used a small amount of the sweet syrup, perhaps knowing its rarity and value. However, it seemed the angel may have forgotten the chunk of bread in his hand because he was solely focused on Dean, his eyes squinted and his head tilted. Hell, if it weren't so creepy Dean might even think it was cute.

No. Hell no. Not going there.

"Seriously, what? You're starting to freak me out."

"I apologize. I am merely confused. How are you going to help me fly? And more importantly why would you want to?"

Again Dean was left staring at the angel. The words he spoke were more eloquent than even the most studied elder at the village. What the hell?

But it occurred to Dean that the angel had a point. Why did he want to help him? Shouldn't Dean be killing him and cutting off his rare as hell wings to present to his father? The thought, though was the expectation of him, made him sick. And that made him worried. He knew Sammy had expressed that he didn't want to hunt angels, but Dean was quick to make sure the kid didn't spread those thoughts to others, especially their father, or he could get in trouble. But now Dean was face to face with a one-in-a-billion kill, and he couldn't make himself do it.

But Dean couldn't let the angel know that. Even if he couldn't kill it, he sure as hell wasn't about to show it his weaknesses. In fact, he wasn't too sure that the sick feeling would remain long if the angel attacked him and Dean was forced to do something out of self-defense.

He merely shrugged, flashing his smirk to the angel once again.

"Why should you care? Just take it or leave it. I'm helping you or you won't let me and I go home. Simple as that."

The angel seemed to deliberate over that for a moment before nodding. He finished the bread and put the jar of sweet syrup to the side, leaving Dean to deal with the lid that the angel didn't understand.

"So you're gonna let me help?"

The angel nodded again, slightly hesitant at first but a determined look appearing in his eyes. Dean wondered if he should worry about that in case the angel was planning something, but he didn't. It seemed the angel decided Dean was his best shot at getting out of that valley alive.

"Okay, then turn around and let me wash that crap off. I'll try to be careful, but I don't know much about wings so if I hurt you, let me know. This is gonna suck, be we gotta do it," Dean told the angel.

It took a moment of wavering and one dark, untrusting glare for the angel to turn and reveal his wings to the human.

Dean managed to stifle his gasp as he saw the wings up close. He hadn't been paying attention before, but now that they were practically in his face he could see how smooth and glossy the feathers were. They had a slightly blue hue, Sammy would probably say they were raven-colored instead of saying black like a normal person. But no matter what color they were, there was one thing Dean couldn't deny: They were beautiful.

Shaking that embarrassing thought out of his head, Dean focused on the wounds of the angel's wing. It looked even worse up close. The blood seemed to be darker than human blood, and the dirt clumped into it only made it darker. He noticed there were even tiny feathers clumped into the gunk, probably shed and stuck in the mess.

Steeling himself, Dean took the wineskin and poured it where the blood seemed to originate, at the base of the bone. He tried to pour lightly, but couldn't help the slight flinch when he heard the angel hiss in pain.

"Sorry man, hopefully I won't have to do that too much."

The good news was Dean was right. The water had cleared enough so that Dean could see the gaping, ragged wound where he had poured. He compared it to the other wing to figure out just how out of place the bone was.

It was bad. Dean had a strong stomach, but the sight almost made him gag. If it had been an arm or a leg bent that way, he probably would have.

The bone itself, which curved straight out on the unwounded wing, was bent almost perpendicular. The skin had broken, but Dean could not yet see any white to indicate the bone was sticking out. The area around the fracture was torn to hell and covered in blood, most of the feathers gone or barely hanging and messed up every which way.

Forcing himself to push his feelings of guilt and sickness to the back of his mind, Dean reached out with one of the cloths to begin carefully wiping the area around the wound. He did his best to ignore the purposefully muted sounds of pain the angel made, wishing the process was easier on both him and the winged creature in front of him.

When he had cleared most of the gunk away from the area of the fracture, Dean moved to the ripped flesh surrounding it, first pouring water, then carefully wiping away blood and dirt and pulling out loose feathers. After finishing the entire wing, Dean poured the rest of the water over the skin of the angel's back and used his last clean cloth to wipe away the last of the blood.

Dean thanked Odin that the blood had not started to flow again when wiping the wound. That would have made the process a hell of a lot more difficult.

Dean congratulated himself on finishing so quickly and managing to stay gentle the entire time, but then stopped. He could hear the angel panting harshly, like he had been holding his breath throughout the process. Whimpers of pain emitted from the poor creature, and Dean couldn't help the urge to touch him.

When Dean's hand landed on the angel's good wing, both of them tensed. Unfortunately, Dean's hand seemed to be working apart from his brain and began to slowly stroke over the soft primary feathers. After a moment, the angel released a sigh, relaxing, but the little, broken sounds continued.

"Hey, you're all cleaned up now. Next we can wrap it up so it can heal and you'll be good as new in no time."

At first, Dean thought the angel was ignoring his existence again. He was about to turn and find the fresh bindings in his bag but stopped.

"It won't heal, Dean. The damage is irreparable. Even using my power, it will not be enough to heal this injury. I lost too much tissue. The feathers will never regrow and I will never be able to fly again," the angel said softly, almost a whisper.

"Hey, don't say that," Dean asserted. "Just give it some time. And if it doesn't work, we can figure something else out."

The angel just sighed sadly and ruffled his good wing agitatedly.

Dean decided there wasn't much use arguing with the angel, and grabbed the bindings. The angel helped him to carefully maneuver the wing into a more comfortable resting position so that Dean could wind the binding around it. Carefully tying off the end, Dean stood and surveyed his work. Hopefully if the angel kept from moving it, the bone would be able to mend itself properly. He wasn't sure about the other stuff, but he hoped to prove the angel wrong.

"So, uh…" Dean wasn't sure what exactly to say.

He was reluctant to leave the angel. Dean knew that if not that day, then soon the angel would regain enough strength to climb out of the valley, and possibly be able to walk back to… wherever angel lived. The hunters were still unable to find what they referred to as the angels' nest, but they all believed it was out there somewhere. And when Dean left, there was a large possibility that the angel would leave and never return and Dean would never see him again. And Dean wasn't entirely comfortable with that idea.

Dean cleared his throat and thrust the untouched bag to the angel. He jumped slightly, but hesitantly reached out to grab it, raising his eyebrows in question.

"It's more food," Dean answered. "In case you aren't able to leave right away, I don't want you to starve. I'll leave the wineskin too so you don't have to walk over to the lake every time you're thirsty. And I put some fish hooks and string in the pocket in case you wanted to try fishing or something. And I put a little meat in there, so you will have to eat that before it goes bad. Um, I think that's about it but…"

Dean forced himself to stop babbling, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"But?" The angel asked.

Dean huffed, annoyed the angel wouldn't let it alone.

"Just… Is there anything else you need? I… I could come out again tomorrow or something, I don't know."

They both stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking. The angel looked about himself, taking in his surroundings. Finally he turned back to Dean.

"It will be too difficult for me to leave for a few days. Most of my energy will be expelled while healing myself. I would be very appreciative of a blanket. I am resistant to the cold, but am unused to sleeping out in the open and get a chill at night."

Dean almost smacked himself in the face. The angel wasn't even wearing clothes, how could Dean be stupid enough to leave him out in the cold.

"Shit, I didn't even think about that. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot," Dean mumbled.

"I didn't say you were an idiot," the angel did the squinty-eyed, head tilt thing again. "It seems illogical for you to have helped me the way you have, why would not bringing a blanket after bringing food make you idiotic?"

Dean sighed.

"Never mind, I can bring you something tomorrow. Maybe I can bring some other food too."

Dean almost didn't notice the blush across the angel's cheeks. Which would've been a downright shame to miss.

"What?" He asked.

The angel stared at his feet. It was crazy to think he was actually witnessing an embarrassed angel. Who woulda thunk?

"I… I really liked the syrup you brought today. I've never tasted anything like it."

Dean broke out in a huge smile. He couldn't tell, but it might've made the angel blush more.

"Yeah, I noticed you liked it. I can bring it again tomorrow if you want."

"I would like that very much, Dean. Thank you for helping me."

He smiled to the angel-no, to _Castiel _one last time before bidding him goodnight and climbing back out of the valley.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N:Delivered to you early today due to the lack of update last week. In mi defense, I went home for Thanksgiving break and discovered mi dad no longer had wifi. I'll still upload mi regular chapter later tonight, because it doesn't seem fair to drag out the long, harsh wait.

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><p>Dean made his way down to the valley, carrying two blankets and a heavy bag, making his way much slower than his last trips.<p>

His mind was racing, questioning everything he was doing with each careful step. Most importantly he was asking himself why he was helping Castiel. For seventeen and a half years, Dean had been taught to avoid angels at all cost. They were alien and deadly. You kill them or they'll kill you.

But so far, Castiel hadn't tried anything to hurt him. In fact the angel was polite, quiet, and, yeah, respectful. He thanked Dean for helping him, politely requested a blanket, and even assured Dean that he wasn't an idiot. None of that reflected what his father and the other hunters had told him his entire life.

Maybe it was a need to figure out why the angel didn't kill him. Castiel had had the opportunity several times, but never raised his hand to strike him. None of it made sense, and Dean wanted to know why he was still alive.

But Castiel's black-colored wings were proof that Dean never should have left that valley.

There were many different kinds of angels. There were grønnvængri (green-wings), rauõrvængri (red-wings), flekkóttrvængri (spotted-wings). The most common were blárvængri (blue-wings) and brúnnvængri (brown-wings). Dean had seen them all thousands of times. But there was only one other time in his life that he had seen a blakkrvængr, and angel with black wings.

Blakkrvængri were rare, only seen once every decade or so, and as far as the village and stories from far away lands were concerned, no hunter had ever killed one. So the fact that Dean had managed to capture and wound one was life-changing.

So why wasn't Dean reacting. Any other hunter would've killed it on the spot and would be revered for the rest of his life and long after. Killing an angel with black wings would've made Dean almost king or even god-like to the other hunters. He would've been the ultimate hunter. So why didn't Dean do anything to make that happen?

Maybe something in Dean was broken. He couldn't kill an angel. Maybe he never would. His father would disown him and he would be forced to die alone in the woods.

No, he couldn't let that happen. Something was happening here. This wasn't a normal situation. Castiel not killing him proved that. And Dean _needed _to find out what was really going on.

Finally, Dean broke through the tree line at the edge of the valley, eyes immediately scanning for Castiel just as last time.

This time the angel was lying face down in the grass, a patch lit up by the dim sun, apparently soaking up the warmth.

Dean shouldn't have been surprised when he caught himself staring at Castiel. When he realized what he was doing, his face flushed and he looked down at his feet shamefully. If it was normal for the angel, Dean didn't want to make it weird or take advantage of that. Just because Dean wasn't used to nudity didn't mean he was allowed to gawk. If staring at the hard lines of muscle in the angel's back and the round swell of his buttocks was gawking.

The blond started climbing down to Castiel, carefully avoiding looking at him once he arrived until the angel had sat up and covered himself, like he wasn't even doing it on purpose it was just comfortable, with his hands.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief and sat down facing him.

"Here's some blankets. I figured the ground couldn't be too comfy, so I brought one to lie on and one to wrap up with. If you need more just let me know."

"Thank you, Dean. That is very kind of you," Castiel replied.

Dean just nodded, unsure of what to say.

The two were silent for a few minutes before Dean remembered what else he had brought the angel.

"Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. Here's some more food."

Castiel's head perked up at the mention of food which made Dean smirk.

The human pushed the bag to the angel, allowing his to look through it himself. He watched as Castiel ruffled through the food, pulling out more bread, a lump of cheese, and a cloth tied around a handful of berries. Dean wondered if there would be enough food left at home for him after his brother and his father had eaten, but pushed that thought away. He'd skipped meals before. He would just heave to keep himself busy and hopefully avoid any questions Sammy might come up with.

His thoughts were interrupted by Castiel making a high pitched sound, almost like a squeal. He looked over to see Castiel clutching the jar of sweet syrup to his chest.

Realizing what was happening, Dean's face broke out into a smile. Castiel noticed Dean was staring and smiled back to the blond. Watching the angel's lip stretch made Dean's breath mysteriously disappear.

They stayed silent while Castiel ate some of the food, even daring to put some of the syrup on the berries, probably making them tooth-achingly sweet.

"Baldur's balls, Cas. You're gonna be a walking cavity after this," Dean joked, biting his cheek to keep his smile from getting embarrassingly huge and breaking his face in life.

"What?"

"You know, that's gotta be sickeningly sweet. It's gonna rot your teeth."

"No," the angel's brows were knitted together, his head tilting, "you called me Cas."

Dean took a moment and replayed his previous words in his head.

"Yeah, I did, sorry. I guess it's just easier to say. I'll try not to do it again if you don't want me to."

Cas smiled, "no, it's fine, Dean. I've just never been called anything but Castiel or…"

Hearing the angel trail off worried Dean, which was odd. But the elegance with which Cas normally spoke, his uncertainty made Dean uncomfortable.

"Or what?" he asked hesitantly, not wanting to make it worse.

The angel just shook his head and turned back to his berries.

"Thank you for the food Dean. It is nice to be able to taste such exotic foods, and I have much more energy than I expected with such an injury."

Dean allowed the angel to change the subject, sensing that he should leave the name topic alone, but still having trouble squashing the intense curiosity.

"No problem, man."

Dean went to relax, before tensing when he realized what Cas had said.

"Wait, you call this shit exotic?"

Cas tilted his head, staring at Dean hard enough to make the blond squirm. It was unnerving to see such big, blue eyes just _staring_.

"This is very different from what I am used to eating. So many flavors are present in these foods that I have never tasted. It is quite enjoyable."

Almost to prove his own words, Cas took a bite of the syrupy berries. The moan that came from the angel was different than any Dean had heard so far. In fact, the only time Dean could remember hearing a moan like that was when he accidentally caught Pamela and an older hunter behind an irreparable old building doing things Dean could only dream about doing.

Dean shifted uncomfortably again, deciding not to dwell on any of those thoughts.

"Well what the hell do you eat, then?" Dean asked incredulously.

Cas swallowed his mouthful of berries, his gaze on Dean never shifting.

"We eat manna and drink water. It is all that we need to have enough energy for the day. It keeps us strong and healthy."

"And what in All-Father's name is that?"

"What?" Another head tilt.

"Manna?"

"Oh. It is similar to your bread, but is unleavened and has much less flavor."

"Dude, that sounds disgusting. And that's all you eat? All day every day? You never eat meat or fruit?"

The angel shook his head.

They were silent for a few minutes as Cas finished his berries. It seemed the angel was finished, Dean wouldn't be surprised if the angel had a stomachache after all that sugar. The remaining food was carefully put back into the bag. Cas turned to put the bag into a small crack in a boulder, revealing wings that had previously been hidden. And that's when Dean noticed.

"Shit, Cas! Your wing!"

The blond stared in shock, watching the wing, no longer bound by cloth, as it stretched slightly so that Dean could still see it after Cas turned back to face him.

It was healed. Sort of. It was still bent slightly out of shape, and only a few feathers clung to it. The blood was entirely gone, barely a scab. But it didn't look right. The flesh hadn't healed right, almost like there wasn't enough left to heal. In fact, most of the wing seemed to be just… gone.

In a way it was worse than before.

"How did it heal so fast?"

"I expected it to take a day or two longer than this, but I expect that the food you have given me and the cleansing and binding you administered helped to speed the process."

"So you can heal yourself?" Dean looked at the angel in wonder.

"If I focus my energy to heal it. Healing tires me, but it seemed prudent."

"But it didn't heal all the way," he hesitantly said, phrasing it almost like a question.

"No."

For the first time since he started eating, Cas looked away from him, tucking his wing away in a sense that almost resembled self-consciousness.

"That's okay, Cas. I mean, I've seen a lot worse on some of the hunters who still manage pretty well. It's really not that bad-"

"Dean."

"I'm sure all the other angels will still go gaga for you. Ladies love guys with scars. Trust me, I know from experience-"

"Dean."

"What?"

"Dean, I am not worried about my appearance. It has been a long time since I've cared about that."

"Great, so everything is hunky dory!"

"Dean, I'll never be able to fly again."

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><p>AN: So the words for the different angels are rough translations from old Norse that I cannot vouch for the validity of. I just let the internet do its thing. Hopefully I won't need to include an index for these words. Just let me know if I should.

Also, the manna bread that Cas describes is what God gave the Jews to eat while they wandered around in the desert. I thought it would be fitting for them to eat something so boring especially as these angels do have to eat and sleep etc.

Let me know if you enjoyed or if I royally screwed something up :)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Back to our regular updates, as promised. Though to be fair, this is a filler chapter consisting of Dean's twisty turny inner monologue. But as usual, let me know if you liked it!

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><p>"Dean, I'll never be able to fly again."<p>

The words echoed in Dean's mind as he worked. In the dark metal, he couldn't stop seeing the broken, defeated look on Castiel's face when he spoke.

Again he thrust the metal into the flame in the smithy, allowing it to heat until he could shape it.

Imagine, being an angel, an almost all-powerful being with beautiful wings and not being able to fly. After doing so your entire life.

He couldn't let that happen to Cas. He wouldn't let that happen to Cas. He ignored the absence of the sun, marking how late it was. Instead, he focused on his new project, intently shaping the metal into something new. It was going to be a very long night.

…Eight Hours Earlier…

"What do you mean, you'll never fly again. That's impossible."

Dean's mouth was suddenly very dry. He tried to swallow to ease the discomfort, but only made it worse feeling his dry throat attempt to contract properly.

"My wing is too damaged to be used. It will not support my weight," Cas flapped his wing uselessly.

"That's crazy. Just give it a few more days. You'll be good as new."

Finally, Cas looked up from where he had been staring at his hands, but Dean wished he didn't. He never wanted to see that glare on the angel's face ever again. It did not belong there.

"My wing is completely healed. There is nothing more I can do. This is it. This is how it will always be. How I will always be. Broken."

And Hel if that didn't break Dean's heart right in two. Cas was not broken. He had to make the angel see that.

"You're not broken, Cas-" Dean tried to reassure him.

"Then what do you call it?" Castiel's face was bordering on murderous. Dean noticed his eyes were beginning to glow bright like they were the first time they met. "I am a flightless angel. I am completely useless. Even if I manage to find a way back to the nest, I will never be welcome."

Dean's heart stopped at the mention of the angels' nest. He knew he should ask. It was something hunters had been looking for since angels first appeared. Everywhere they searched, they never found a trace. If he didn't ask, he would truly be a failure.

But up until now, he had put Cas's needs first. Why stop now?

"You're not useless. And the wing is not unfixable."

"Dean, I told you-"

"No, Cas. I know you've done all you can, but I haven't. I'm gonna fix this. I may not agree with everything my father has taught me, but there is one thing I have learned: I clean up my own messes. And Cas, I got you into this mess. So I'm gonna clean it up."

"And how are you planning on doing that?" The angel did not believe him.

"Do you trust me?" Dean asked him.

"I shouldn't. You are a hunter. You should kill me. Or capture me. There is not a single logical reason for me to trust you. You could turn your back or change your mind at any time."

"Yeah. So do you trust me?"

The angel stared at him. The glow had dissipated from his eyes so Dean could stare right back, searching for the angel's answer. Searching for the angel's thoughts.

"Yes."

…Now…

Dean could feel the sweat dripping into his eyes, down his back, into uncomfortable places he'd rather not think about, as he worked in the small shop.

Bobby had left hours ago, leaving Dean to his "crazy, ridiculous idjit" project. Dean didn't mind. It would be much easier not to have to try explaining what he was doing to the older man. He should try to think of a good excuse for it in case anything happened, but Dean was too distracted to think about that.

Again, Dean was thinking about the damn angel.

He replayed every conversation he had had with the angel over and over in his head. Many times, Cas had slipped when talking, mentioning things about angels that Dean knew Cas wouldn't be allowed to tell a human. He probably wasn't even actually allowed to talk to humans.

The only time Dean knew about an angel making a sound was when he was about six years old, Sammy a tiny two year old toddling around the house. His father had been the one to capture it. Obviously he wasn't the chief of the village for nothing.

John had managed to capture a blárvængr. The angel's wings had been cut off, a usual process done by hunters that liked to keep trophies. But instead of killing it, John had strapped it to a table and interrogated it. Tortured it. For almost two whole days. Dean had had to take Sammy to Bobby's house to keep him from hearing the screams.

The angel never spoke a word.

Now he was so close. He could make Cas give him information in exchange for helping him. He could manipulate Cas into telling him. He could capture Cas like his father had done to the other angel and torture him.

But Dean knew none of these things would ever happen. As curious as Dean was for the answers, that was all he was, curious. And he knew the knowledge was dangerous. So he wouldn't ask.

But what if Cas gave the information voluntarily. What if he made another slip, bigger this time, and revealed something huge. What if he eventually trusted Dean with the information?

He tried to picture the angel telling him something so important, so personal, and then revealing it to his father and all the other hunters. No, he couldn't do that either.

But why?

What was it about this one angel? Was Dean an idiot for allowing himself to be draw in so close to Cas? What if the angel was manipulating him, getting him to help him, then killing him once he got what he wanted. But that didn't make sense. The angel didn't even think Dean could help him.

Dean tried not to think about it, turning back to his work.

He was almost finished, having worked seven, no make that eight it's past midnight, hours straight. He knew Sammy would be worried, but doubted his father had even noticed. But he had set out enough food for them both before he left to go see Cas, and made sure Sam had everything he needed, so Dean didn't worry.

Finally, Dean had finished. He removed the mask he wore to protect his eyes and face from the heat and shreds of metal, rubbing a hand across his forehead to wipe away the sweat gathered.

On his work table sat a work of beauty. The metal was shaped as a wing, with a special material Dean had developed earlier when making flying weapons that needed to be aerodynamic to be able to be ejected long distances.

He had taken a few measurements of Cas's wing before he left. It wasn't perfect, but he would resize it, fix anything needed, or even remake the entire thing if it was a failure.

One last time, he pulled the metal lever connected to the false wing to make it spread. It wasn't the fanciest, or the prettiest, but it could move in tune with another, real wing, and with a little practice, Cas should be able to fly again.

Dean smiled to himself, alone, dirty, and exhausted in the small room, unable to push away the increasing feeling growing in his chest.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: This chapter made me very happy. It's slightly awkward wording, but not the worst thing I've ever written. I hope you guys like it!

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><p>Dean was giddy. The entire way through the forest to the valley, spent tripping over everything and nothing, but carefully protecting the package in his arms with everything he could, Dean couldn't stop trying to picture Cas's reaction. Would he be just as excited as Dean? Would he be thankful, maybe even find a nice way to show his gratitude to Dean for being so thoughtful and considerate?<p>

For all the scenarios Dean had imagined, he never expected Cas to react the way he did.

As soon as Dean arrived in the valley, he made a beeline for where he saw Cas sunning his wings next to the lake. Too excited to form words, he thrust the package towards the angel. Startled, Cas accepted the bulky item, staring at it bemusedly.

After a few moments Dean sighed impatiently, "You're supposed to open it, Cas. It's like a gift."

"None of your other gifts were wrapped," the angel pointed out.

"Just open it."

Cas gave Dean another confused head tilt before looking back at the package. He slowly moved the cloth to unwrap it. As soon as the shiny metal and flash of red material was revealed, Cas dropped the bundle. In a blink of an eye, the angel was a few yards away, dropped into a defensive position, snarling. His eyes glowed brightly, his body coiled like an animal preparing to strike. But what surprised Dean the most was the silver blade gripped tightly in the angel's hand.

"Cas?"

The angel growled, gripping the blade that appeared from nowhere even tighter.

Dean held up his hands, hoping Cas would calm down enough to talk. The blond had no idea what was happening, but a dark heaviness coiled in the pit of his stomach.

"Cas, what's going on? What did I do? Just tell me what I did and I'll try to fix it."

He watched as the angel's forehead creased, the brightness dimmed slightly.

"Yeah, I have no idea what just happened. I need you to help me out, man." Dean tried to keep his voice as soft and calm as possible, though he could feel his body shaking.

Though he remained ready to strike, Dean sighed in relief when the angel finally responded.

"I know what this is, Dean. Many of my brothers and sisters have been slaughtered using these weapons. You have brought a weapon to kill me."

What? Um… Oh. Oh crap.

"No! Tyr's tits, Cas! I'm not going to kill you! It's not a weapon. I made this for you. To help you."

Cas dimmed a little more, taking a few steps back towards Dean.

"What is it?" He asked hesitantly.

Dean went to pick the bundle back up, freezing when the angel tensed. After a moment he proceeded more slowly. Carefully unwrapping it, Dean spread the false wing to show Cas the proper shape, mirroring the ones stretching from his back.

"It's a wing. Well, it's a fake wing. I'm sorry I wasn't really thinking about it looking like a weapon. I was just really excited to show you. It will help you fly, Cas!"

The light faded completely, revealing the deep sapphires of the angel's eyes, a look of awe spreading across his face.

Slowly, still defensive and gripping the blade, Cas stepped closer to examine the wing. He hesitantly reached out his free hand to touch it, flinching once before gaining the courage to touch the pieces made of metal. Dean couldn't help but smile encouragingly.

"How does it work?" He asked.

"Do you still trust me? It'd be easier to show you."

Dean wasn't sure if he should have said it. He could have explained it, though it would truly take more time to do so. But with his reaction, Dean knew he should take it easy.

They both waited silently, Dean letting Cas move the wing on its joints to see how it spread and furled.

"Yes, Dean. I trust you. Show me."

Dean ignored the warmth that spread through his body at the words and told Cas to turn around. He didn't mention the blade in the angel's hand. If it made him more comfortable, so be it.

Slowly, gently, Dean fitted the false wing to the damaged one, binding it loosely enough to avoid chafing and tightly enough so it wouldn't fall off. Cas tensed a few times, but never told Dean to stop or remove the contraption, so Dean worked as quickly and softly as he could.

The man carefully guided Cas to move his wing, testing the joints to see that the false wing moved in sync. Dean had oiled it well, so the wings were able to move in tandem.

After checking to make sure everything was secure, Dean moved around Cas to face him, studying the angel's reaction to the wing.

"I admit, I'm not an expert, so if you think this is something you would like to try, it will take a lot of tweaking until we get it right. This is based off of how I remembered angels flying, so it's pretty basic. But maybe it will at least get you off the ground."

Dean noticed one of the binds was loose in the front and adjusted it, hand accidentally touching Cas's neck. He held his breath as he drew back.

"Dean," the angel still seemed so awed, flexing his wing in different ways and feeling the false wing bend with him.

"I tried to keep it light. Most of the metal is hollow or thin enough that it should be okay. Or does it feel too heavy?" Dean wished the angel would speak.

Finally the angel stopped flexing and turned to Dean, mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

"I can barely feel it. It feels like a real wing."

Dean let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Is it… Would it be okay if I tried to fly?"

Dean nodded, the excitement building in him, seeing the same excitement echoing in Castiel's eyes. The same hope.

Cas nodded back, taking a few steps back to give himself room. He took a deep breath before sprinting to the boulder, taking a leap, and kicking off.

Dean watched in amazement as Cas flapped the wings, the air underneath lifting him higher and higher until he was soaring high above Dean's head. Dean let out a laugh and then a loud whoop, excitement overwhelming him.

Then he watched as the angel wobbled, then dropped. His heart dropped into his stomach, breath leaving him like someone had punched him in the gut. Luckily, the angel was able to balance himself, arranging his wings so he slowly glided back down to Earth.

Cas landed about a hundred feet away, but Dean was already running to him. Apologies were already dripping from his tongue, stupidly asking if the angel was okay calling himself an idiot.

But when Cas turned to face the man, his eyes sparkled with happiness, a laugh clinging to his pink lips. The apologies fell away from Dean, an unexpected smile replacing them just from seeing Cas's own smile.

"Cas."

"Dean. Thank you," The angel leaned forward, wrapping a hand around his neck and placing his forehead to Dean's. "Thank you so much."


End file.
